Since all these rules and superstitions are outdated, what's wrong with me indulging in some me

Zhuogu Ranxi says: Read this book!

Lu Changsheng did not turn around.

But his right hand moved.

Three talismans slid out from his sleeve and were held between his fingers. The moment spiritual energy was poured in, the cinnabar patterns on the talismans lit up with a golden light. The light did not explode or burst, but flowed out like water, spreading along his fingers, palms, and wrists all the way to his arm.

He turned around.

The golden light drew an arc as he turned, like a crescent moon rising from the darkness. The light collided with the blue light, making a hissing sound. The blue light trembled violently under the impact of the golden light, and cracks appeared on its surface, like a piece of shattered glass.

The person inside the blue light was exposed.

The butler's face.

That perpetually expressionless, puppet-like face appeared exceptionally pale under the golden light. His eyes were wide open, the pupils shrinking to pinpoints.

He held a short blade in his hand.

The blade was less than a foot away from Lu Changsheng. The tip gleamed a cold white under the golden light, and the blade was stained with blood—dark red blood, still dripping. That was the blood of those people from before.

Lu Changsheng did not back down.

His left hand rose from below, palm open, fingers together, like a door suddenly slammed shut. He slapped the butler's wrist, not from the front, but from the side—the edge of his palm precisely cutting into the gap between the radius and ulna.

That's the most vulnerable part of your wrist.

"Click."

A soft crack. Not the sound of bones breaking, but the sound of a joint being dislocated. The butler's wrist bent at an impossible angle, the dagger slipping from his fingers, tumbling a few times in the air, and embedding itself in the ground.

The tip of the knife sank half an inch into the stone slab, vibrating with a buzzing sound.

The housekeeper didn't call.

It wasn't that he didn't want to scream; it was that his voice was cut off by fear. His mouth was open, and a faint, gurgling sound, like bubbles bursting, came from his throat.

His left hand moved.

He produced another short blade from somewhere—shorter, narrower, and more like a paper cutter than the previous one. The blade slashed upwards, aimed at Lu Changsheng's abdomen. The angle was tricky, the speed fast, and the force ruthless.

Lu Changsheng nimbly turned to the side.

The blade grazed his clothes, cutting a gash on his side.

His right hand had been withdrawn.

The immobilization talisman was held between the index and middle fingers, and the cinnabar patterns on the talisman paper shone with dazzling golden light under the infusion of spiritual power.

The butler saw the talisman.

His pupils contracted sharply, and his body instinctively leaned back, trying to dodge.

But Lu Changsheng didn't give him a chance to hide.

His left hand gripped the butler's right shoulder, his fingers tightening until they dug into the gap between the shoulder blade and collarbone. The butler was rooted to the spot, like a butterfly with its wings pinned down.

Then Lu Changsheng stuck the talisman on the steward's forehead.

A magic charm that freezes one's body.

Golden light surged from the talisman, like an invisible hand pressing down on every joint of the butler, locking all movable parts in the same instant.

His body stiffened, still leaning back, the short blade in his right hand had slipped from his grasp, while his left hand still held the paper cutter, its tip hovering three inches in front of Lu Changsheng's abdomen.

His eyes were wide open, his mouth was agape, and his expression was frozen between fear and madness.

Only his eyes can still move.

The blue light disappeared completely.

Without the support of the short stick, the blue light surrounding the butler dissipated like mist, revealing his complete body.

The others in the lobby finally noticed the commotion.

People saw the butler and three corpses at his feet.

Screams erupted from the crowd. Not just one person, but dozens. The sounds blended together, sharp, piercing, like knives slicing through the air.

"The butler killed someone—"

"He killed them—"

"Look at his numbers—"

All eyes were simultaneously fixed on the butler's forehead.

65.

It didn't fall off.

The housekeeper's numbers didn't drop.

Lu Changsheng's pupils suddenly contracted.

No. That's not right. According to the rules, attacking others should result in a sharp drop in scores.

But 65 remained completely still.

As stable as a rock.

Why?

Lu Changsheng's mind raced. There was only one possibility—the butler wasn't "attacking others." He was "following orders." He was doing this on someone's orders. And that person's score was high enough to protect him from punishment by the rules.

Xiao Yuheng.

The moment the name exploded in Lu Changsheng's mind, he felt a gaze upon him.

It wasn't from the butler. The butler was frozen in place; although his eyes could move, the gaze was too cold, too steady, too composed—not the kind of gaze a butler in fear could produce.

Lu Changsheng slowly turned his head.

On the high platform, Xiao Yuheng had returned sometime earlier. He stood there, his black robe appearing particularly somber in the dappled light cast by the stained glass windows. A gentle, jade-like smile graced his face, his gray eyes slightly narrowed, like a cat basking in the sun.

His gaze fell on the butler and lingered for a moment.

Then he laughed.

The smile was very faint, so faint that the corners of her mouth curved slightly.

Lu Changsheng withdrew his gaze and looked back at the butler.

The butler's eyes were still darting around, but the madness had vanished.

His numbers still haven't dropped.

He didn't remove the talisman from the butler's forehead. The immobilization talisman would last for a while longer, enough for him to finish this matter. He turned around to face the screaming, crying, and trembling crowd.

"Quiet."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was clearly audible throughout the entire hall. Not because he used spiritual power, but because everyone wanted to hear what he had to say.

The screams stopped. The crying continued, but it was suppressed, like distant rumble of thunder.

Lu Changsheng scanned the entire room.

"The butler killed someone." His voice was as calm as if he were stating a weather report. "According to the rules, his points should have dropped. But they didn't.

"Master, aren't you going to deal with this person who broke the rules?"

Lu Changsheng's voice wasn't loud, but it could be heard clearly throughout the entire hall, and it was aimed precisely at the figure in the black robe on the high platform.

All eyes turned to the high platform at the same time.

Xiao Yuheng was still standing there. His black robe appeared particularly somber in the dappled sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows, the red and blue dappled light falling on him like a layer of mottled, flowing bloodstains. His face still wore that gentle, jade-like smile, his gray eyes slightly narrowed, like a cat comfortably basking in the sun.

But his fingers were moving.

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His right hand rested on the armrest, his index and middle fingers tapping the wooden handrail alternately, producing a very faint, almost inaudible tapping sound. The rhythm wasn't random, but rather a regular, coded, or countdown-like rhythm.

Da. Da da. Da. Da da da.

The lobby was as quiet as a tomb.

Everyone awaited Xiao Yuheng's answer. Those who had just been performing stopped—the middle-aged man had stopped crying; the tear tracks on his face were still wet, but his eyes were dry, like two parched riverbeds. The young man who had been doing somersaults stood in the corner, sweat still beading on his forehead, his chest heaving, but his gaze was fixed on the platform. The two fighting servants separated; one clutched his bleeding nose, the other squatted on the ground picking up his knocked-out teeth, both their eyes fixed in the same direction.

Even those who were huddled in the corners and trembling stopped shaking and peeked out with one eye through the gap in their arms, looking at the platform.

Lu Changsheng stood in the center of the crowd, his left hand still in the same position as before.

He is waiting.

Xiao Yuheng finally spoke.

"deal with?"

He repeated the word, as if savoring its flavor, the corners of his mouth remaining unchanged.

"Mr. Lu, what do you think should be done?"

Xiao Yuheng did not answer Lu Changsheng's question, but instead threw the question back at him.

Lu Changsheng did not hesitate.

"According to the rules," he said, his voice as calm as a still lake, "the butler violated rule number two by attacking another person. His score should plummet, and he should be taken away in chains."

Xiao Yuheng smiled.

This time, it wasn't just a slight curve at the corners of his mouth; he genuinely laughed. He laughed out loud. The sound wasn't loud, but in the extremely quiet hall, each syllable echoed like a stone thrown into a deep well, taking a long time to be heard.

"According to the rules." Xiao Yuheng repeated these four words, as if savoring a poem. "Mr. Lu, you are truly...adorable."

He stepped down from the platform, his black robe billowing behind him like a black wave.

Everyone stepped back, but Lu Changsheng did not.

He stood there, watching Xiao Yuheng walk out through the passage that the crowd had automatically parted.

Ranhu Xiao Yuheng stopped in front of Lu Changsheng.

The two people stood facing each other, less than two meters apart.

"You said 'according to the rules,'" Xiao Yuheng's voice was very low, so low that only the two of them could hear, "but have you ever considered—who makes the rules?"

Lu Changsheng remained silent.

"I set the rules," Xiao Yuheng said, the curve of his lips unchanged, but the light in his eyes grew colder. "Every single rule was uttered by me."

He paused for a moment.

"Since I said it, I can of course take it back."

The moment the last two words were uttered, the temperature in the lobby seemed to drop a few degrees.

Xiao Yuheng turned around and faced the crowd.

His voice was no longer low and only two people could hear it, but amplified to the point that the entire lobby could hear, a loud voice like the tolling of a bell.

"Everyone."

The crowd took another step back.

"Mr. Lu just said that the butler violated the rules and should be punished." Xiao Yuheng's voice was unhurried, as if he were telling a bedtime story. "Mr. Lu is right. The butler did indeed violate the rules."

He paused for a moment.

"But Mr. Lu overlooked one thing—rules can be changed."

The lobby erupted in uproar.

"No attacks on others during the ceremony"—this rule is no longer in effect.

Everyone understood what those words meant. The expressions on the faces of those who had just been performing changed. It wasn't fear, it wasn't panic, but something more primal, more instinctive—calculation.

They were calculating: Now that I can kill someone, who should I kill? Whose number is the lowest? Who is the easiest to kill? Will my number increase after I kill them?

The expressions on the faces of those huddled in the corners, trembling, also changed.

The fear was removed.

The intent to kill was filled in.

Murderous intent surged forth from different directions simultaneously, like countless invisible snakes crawling on the ground, swimming in the air, and weaving between each person.

Lu Changsheng stood still, his gaze sweeping across the entire room.

The expressions on the faces of those who had just been performing had completely changed. The middle-aged man had stopped crying; tear tracks still clung to his face, but his eyes were dry, like two parched riverbeds.

The young man who had been doing somersaults stood in the corner, beads of sweat still clinging to his forehead, his chest heaving violently. His hands trembled with excitement.

The two servants who had been fighting had separated. The one who was covering his nose still had blood dripping from between his fingers, making a soft, rain-like pattering sound on the stone slab.

The man who was squatting on the ground picking up his teeth, holding two bloody teeth in his hand, slowly stood up and his gaze fell on the woman closest to him.

The woman's number is 23.

Her body froze, like a frog being stared at by a snake.

No one helped her.

Everyone was watching her.

It wasn't sympathy, it wasn't pity, it was assessment—assessing how much effort it would take to kill her, how much the numbers would increase after she was killed, and whether she would become the next target.

Then someone made a move.

It was Meng Boyuan.

That old man.

That old man who had been weeding in the East Garden for seven years, had only 20 points on his forehead, and was treated like a transparent person by everyone.

He stepped out from the crowd.

No one noticed him. All eyes were fixed on the woman with the number 23; no one looked at the old man with a score of 20. What did 20 mean after Rule Two was revoked? It meant he was among the easiest targets. It meant he was the prey, not the hunter.

But he came out, his back slightly hunched, his hands hanging at his sides, his fingers slightly curled, and his face expressionless.

No one noticed him. All eyes were fixed on the woman with the number 23.

But the old man Meng Boyuan walked up to the woman.

Stop.

Then he raised his hand.

"Don't be afraid," Meng Boyuan said.

His voice was very soft, so soft it sounded like he was coaxing a child to sleep.

Then his hand pressed on the woman's forehead, and with a light flick, the woman's forehead was instantly pierced, along with the 23 marks on her forehead.

The woman's eyes were still open, and Meng Boyuan's face was reflected in her pupils.

Meng Boyuan withdrew his hand.

He turned around and faced the crowd.

The crowd was deathly silent. No one expected that the first person to publicly commit murder would be the old man in front of them.

Meng Boyuan looked at them.

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